Miracle Baby
I used to think Little Man was a miracle baby. For one, technically, my pregnancy shouldn't have happened. Don't ask. For two, his first year of life he almost died. They said if I'd waited one more day to bring him to the hospital, his lungs would've collapsed (we'd already done multiple ER visits before that point). We had an overnight hospital stay and came on home. He's already made it through two separate surgeries, tackled an inhaler and multiple breathing treatments, and figured out how to sleep comfortably when his feet are connected with a metal rod. This child has skill.
Now, however, I think Tiny is the miracle baby. As in, it will be a miracle if he makes it through his first year of life alive--that is, if his brother has anything to do with it. Don't get me wrong, Little loves Tiny. And most of the things he's done to him were accidents. I think. I hope? But so far, Little has sat on Tiny's head, laid bodily on top of him, elbowed him this way and that, covered his face with stuffed animals, and then yesterday, for the win, Little tipped over Tiny's stroller--with Tiny in it. Yes. That's right. With. Tiny. In. It. Every day that child survives his older brother's exuberant and accidental man-handling is a surprise to me. What doesn't kill him makes him stronger?
The funny thing, though, is that I really am married to a real miracle baby. The Man and his twin, by all accounts, shouldn't have survived. So even though I'm joking about my two silly boys (and I am so glad for their wonderful health--what a blessing), at the risk of sounding very, very cheesy, it's nice to rejoice in the fact that 27 years and some odd months ago, the incredible man I'm married to was born, a little early and not perhaps with ideal circumstances but alive. I love my boys. All three of them.
On that note, I came home last night after going for a quick drive in the rain to drop off some bread for a friend at a house that wasn't hers (again, don't ask--but her husband is a ninja and did some incredible under-cover bread retrieval), and I found that my littlest man had talked the biggest man into taking him out of the crib (ostensibly loudly and with tears). When I arrived, they were cuddling on the couch watching baseball together; Tiny's head was leaned up against the Man's chest and he was cooing happily to himself. The picture of contentment. I kind of loved it.
Now, however, I think Tiny is the miracle baby. As in, it will be a miracle if he makes it through his first year of life alive--that is, if his brother has anything to do with it. Don't get me wrong, Little loves Tiny. And most of the things he's done to him were accidents. I think. I hope? But so far, Little has sat on Tiny's head, laid bodily on top of him, elbowed him this way and that, covered his face with stuffed animals, and then yesterday, for the win, Little tipped over Tiny's stroller--with Tiny in it. Yes. That's right. With. Tiny. In. It. Every day that child survives his older brother's exuberant and accidental man-handling is a surprise to me. What doesn't kill him makes him stronger?
The funny thing, though, is that I really am married to a real miracle baby. The Man and his twin, by all accounts, shouldn't have survived. So even though I'm joking about my two silly boys (and I am so glad for their wonderful health--what a blessing), at the risk of sounding very, very cheesy, it's nice to rejoice in the fact that 27 years and some odd months ago, the incredible man I'm married to was born, a little early and not perhaps with ideal circumstances but alive. I love my boys. All three of them.
On that note, I came home last night after going for a quick drive in the rain to drop off some bread for a friend at a house that wasn't hers (again, don't ask--but her husband is a ninja and did some incredible under-cover bread retrieval), and I found that my littlest man had talked the biggest man into taking him out of the crib (ostensibly loudly and with tears). When I arrived, they were cuddling on the couch watching baseball together; Tiny's head was leaned up against the Man's chest and he was cooing happily to himself. The picture of contentment. I kind of loved it.
